


Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right)

by Dyed_Red



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, But only if you squint, Coda, Episode: s11e10 The Devil in the Details, Forced Orgasm, Hurt No Comfort, Lucifer (Supernatural) in the Cage, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Not Beta Read, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Scene Re-Write, Wincest - Freeform, can be read as established wincest or pre-wincest or no wincest, the focus is on Lucifer and what he does to them (mostly Sam)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 14:58:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19064977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dyed_Red/pseuds/Dyed_Red
Summary: Sam’s visit to the cage is already going awry, but Dean’s one-man rescue ends up skidding it sideways into territory neither him or Sam are ready for.(Gratuitous episode scene re-write. If Cas hadn’t come till after, if he hadn’t been there yet when Dean ran down to the 'parole' cage after hearing Sam scream - how bad could it have got for the brothers before he made it?)





	Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: unlike in canon, where it was only about 5 mins from when Dean ran in to check on Sam and when the spell to reseal Lucifer in the cage started to take effect, this scene stretches out a lot, so we're gonna say the spell took a lot longer (or Dean got there a lot sooner).
> 
>  
> 
> **Also READ THE TAGS. This fic has an explicit rape scene between Lucifer and Sam. Consume your preferred fic responsibility and leave now if that isn't your cup of tea.**

 

_“You did all that - what, just to jump my bones?”_

_“Literally.”_

-

He didn’t think this through.

He didn’t think this through, and Lucifer’s breath is against his throat and he’s –

There isn’t a word for how terrified Sam feels.

He’s a big guy, he’s spent a lot of his life trying to be less imposing, less intimidating to others. He's neither right now. He’s sitting with his back to the edge of the cage, knees up. He knows it’s self-protective, knows it’s halfway to the fetal position. Knows hiding in a corner won’t make any difference when Lucifer starts getting mad.

The Angel of the Morning was never known for his patience.

“What’d you mean ‘no’?”

There it is.

Sam stands up, forces his feet under him. Because he knows – he knows exactly what Lucifer will do if he wins. And he tells him – the Apocalypse. He’s started that once before, he’s not about to be the reason it kick-starts again. He tells Lucifer so. He gathers his courage, his strength, the tattered remains of his hope, and he says No.

“I’m ready to die. But I’m not ready to be your bitch.”

“Okay.” Lucifer shrugs but Sam knows: this is it. The anger. Because he always gets mad. Every damn time. “Plan B.”

Lucifer rolls his shoulder and then it starts – the pain. Sam had forgotten this, or close to it. He can’t forget it now, and the memories are choking up his senses with fear and panic. Panic is almost foreign to him most day; his instincts are trained to kick in. They do, maybe, throwing punches, shouting, but he’s only halfway aware of it. Because it's always different with Lucifer, always worse, a thousand times worse. His vision has spots in it already, face throbbing from the blows, blood in his mouth. It hadn't taken long.

He is aware though, moments later, that he’s on his back, that Lucifer’s over him, that he’s winding up for another punch to Sam’s miraculously not-yet-broken nose, when he hears Dean’s voice.

“ _SAM!_ ”

 _No_.

It’s just a snap of Lucifer’s fingers and Dean is in the cage with them.

Sam’s blood runs cold. If Lucifer didn't look so pleased he'd think it was another trick but it's not, Dean's supposed to be safe and far away and he's not, he's here and Sam's head is spinning but he has to focus he has to keep himself together because Dean is - Dean is _here._ And he was wrong before – _this_ , right now, is the most terrified he’s ever felt.

Lucifer stands. “Welcome to the party.”

Sam spits blood. He tries to stand, tries to use the bars to drag himself up. He’s already thinking about all the ways he’s going to beg. But Dean’s squaring off against Lucifer and Sam’s legs won’t hold him and he hates that he's dizzy, that the only thing clogging up the fear is the punch-drunk feeling.

“Scared?” Lucifer asks. Dean bluffs, because he always does, because he's Dean, and pretends otherwise. Lucifer laughs. “That’s cute.”

“Lucifer,” Sam gasps.

“Oh I know,” Lucifer turns on his heels, spinning around and tapping his lip. “Don’t hurt him, don’t I dare, but you know what, Sam? It gets old hearing the same record over and over. We both know how this is about to go. I’m going to threaten Dean and you’re going to fold like a – ”

He snaps his fingers and Sam winces as Dean is thrown back into the opposite side of the cage. He’d tried taking the opening while Lucifer’s back was to him, knife out to stab him. It hadn’t gone so well, and the weapon's littered now on the floor of the cage. Dean’s shout of pain is cut off with a ragged breath as Lucifer twists his hand. Sam shudders just watching.

“ _Now_ ,” Lucifer turns again, his back to Sam this time. “That wasn’t very polite, Dean-o. I was trying to have a conversation with Sam. Can’t stand not to be the belle of the ball, can you? You have that in common with Michael.”

“Lucifer - ”

“Unless the next word out of your mouth is _yes_ , Sam, I don’t want to hear it.” He half-shouts it like a threat, not the singsong tone he’s using to play with Dean, and Sam slams his mouth closed. He knows Lucifer doesn’t make idle threats.

“Oh Dean. You _know_ ,” he drawls slow and playful, gesturing between the two of them, “this could work. You’re still the self-sacrificing hero type. We could do it, you and me. You can hold an archangel.”

“Wha – me? Are you asking me to be your _vessel_?”

Lucifer’s getting up close to Dean, right into his space and Sam’s heart is beating out of his chest. He’s finally got his feet under him now, breathing heavy, watching. As if there'll ever be an actual opening. He eyes the knife on the floor.

“Think about it. You need me to defeat the Darkness. I need a meatsuit that can hold itself together while I’m topside to accomplish that. What’d’you say, Dean?”

Sam watches him lean in close to Dean’s face, close to his neck, but his voice is projecting and Sam shudders. It’s a performance. Dean will never say yes and Lucifer has to know it. Dean didn’t even say yes to the holiest of angels, he’s not about to let the literal devil in his body.

“You’re outta your mind if you think I’d ever say yes to you.”

Lucifer steps back, shrugs, and casts a glance over his shoulder to Sam. “Well, I had to try. Right Sammy?” He winks.

“Leave my brother out of this,” Sam finds the strength to say.

“You know exactly what you have to say for me to do that.”

“Not gonna happen.”

He feels it, his feet dragging on the ground, his body pulled toward Lucifer like there’s a hook in his ribs dragging him forward.

“Come on, Sammy,” Lucifer cradles his face. His fingers are ice. They've always been ice. “We do our best work together. Call me old fashioned, but I don’t want any sweet little one-night-stands. I want _you_. My perfect vessel.”

Sam grits his teeth.

“Keep your mitts off my brother!” Dean throws himself against the invisible, psychic bonds that Lucifer has holding him to the side of the cage, rattling them uselessly.

“Oh Dean,” Lucifer rolls his head and Sam shakes his own, just imperceptibly. A useless denial. “I’ve had these mitts _all over_ your brother.” He winks again, salacious and over the top, but this time it’s at Dean. Sam’s stomach sinks.

Dean shakes his head a little, confused, and tries to make eye contact with Sam. Sam swallows. It reminds him that Lucifer's fingers are still cradling his jaw, his neck.

"Sam?"

“Oh ho _ho_!” Lucifer laughs, delighted, and he’s already letting go of Sam, throwing him back against the opposite wall. His back slams hard against the bars. “Sammy never told you? My my,” he’s in Dean’s space again and Dean is pulling away, trying to look away now and Sam pulls at his own bonds this time. “Steel trap, that one.”

“Lucifer,” Sam breathes through his teeth.

“Know what you have to say to get me to shut up, Sammy,” he calls without looking away from Dean. He’s gripping Dean’s chin now, forcing their eyes to meet. “Sam didn’t tell you all about how up close and personal we got, hm? Bunk buddies. See your baby brother,” his voice is low enough that Sam can barely hear him, but maybe that’s the blood pounding in his ears, “was my _bitch_ , Dean. In every single sense of the word.”

“No.” He does hear that, Dean’s denial.

“Oh – yes. That body, made just for me – warm and tight, like a glove. How could I resist?”

“Shut up.”

Sam can see Dean shaking, just a little, and he knows it’s in rage. Lucifer just laughs.

“You know the funny part? When I manifested here, I wasn’t even surprised I took on Nick’s appearance, this old meatsuit. Because I didn’t get locked up in this body. No, I was in Sammy’s. But he always felt a little extra weird with me raping him in that skin, a little self-cesty, so I suppose his subconscious manifested me in these digs.”

He’s chuckling, droll and casual, while Sam’s staring at the floor, shaking. It's coming out from the edges of his mind, unravelling, too many memories to repress at once and he can't - he can't look at Dean while Lucifer tells him this. It doesn't matter that at some point Lucifer dropped his hold on his body, he still feels paralyzed, barely holding himself up against the bars of the cage.

“I’ll kill you, you sunnova bitch.” Dean’s voice is all grit and suppressed anger.

“Okay. Time to get a yes.”

He throws Dean to the floor of the cage and Sam’s brain clicks three moves ahead. “ _NO_!”

He doesn't think, doesn't even know it's reacting, just throws himself forward, between Lucifer and Dean's prone form.

“Sam!” Dean’s voice is commanding, the kind of order that means he wants Sam to get out of the way, out of _harm’s_ way but he doesn’t know where the hell this is headed and Sam does and –

“Oh Sammy. You’re old news. Been there, done that. But _Dean_ … he’s fresh meat.”

“No.” Sam’s arms are thrown out wide and he knows he’s shaking. And unlike Dean, it’s not in anger – it’s complete, unbridled fear. It's in his voice and his body and clogging up his senses but it won't stop him from protecting his brother. “Lucifer, _no_.”

“Sam,” Dean’s behind him, standing, but Lucifer taps a finger in the air and he’s slammed right back down. Sam winces but he doesn’t look back.

“What did you say to me before, Sam? You’re ready to die, to watch others die, but you’re – what was it now – not ready to be my bitch? Hm? How ‘bout I make Dean my bitch instead? Ready for that?”

“I’m not letting you hurt him.”

Lucifer steps forward, cups Sam’s face again, runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. He trembles, or maybe shivers because they're so fucking cold, but he doesn’t move.

“Oh Sam,” his voice is almost soft, almost loving and reverent again. It stirs up memories that make him sick. Lucifer’s thumb taps his lips. “You don’t _let_ me do anything. Anything except letting me up in there with you.”

“I can’t.” He can feel tears in his eyes again. “I _can’t_.”

Lucifer waves a hand and Sam is thrown aside. It hurts, it always does, his body slamming into a hard and solid object, cast aside by powers beyond the ordinary. It barely registers any more.

Lucifer’s over Dean’s body, Sam can see. Sam's facing the end of Dean’s feet, can see him trying to push himself away, get his feet under him, his knees up, trying to shimmy out from under the man on top of him. But even if his legs are free the rest of him is immobilized. His arms are flung out over his head on the floor and Lucifer’s working at his belt. Sam’s going to throw up.

“Gonna fucking kill you you stupid, ugly, lame ass excuse for an angel," Dean's hurtling himself against his bonds, bucking like a mad bull. "I’m going to make you hurt in ways you can't even – ”

“Such pretty promises, Dean,” Lucifer coos.

Sam throws himself at Lucifer’s back, arms around his throat. It’s doomed to fail, they’re human and he’s a freaking _archangel_ , but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is distracting Lucifer from Dean, and it accomplishes that because it takes Lucifer by surprise.

He’s thrown off, slammed into the bars a third time (he wonders and ignores the thought, how many ribs has he cracked so far today), and then thrown forward before he can get his bearings. He slams face-first into the floor of the cage, gasps and spits more blood. He can feel the bruises forming all over his body. His head is swimming again, spots dancing in his eyes. 

“That – that was almost fun, Sam.” He can hear Lucifer’s voice behind him but can’t look up, can’t even get up on his arms without being slammed back down. He grits his teeth and glances over to Dean, who’s only a foot away.

Dean’s on his back, looking at Sam with wide eyes. His arms are still over his head, hasn’t been able to move. Sam doesn’t look down to where his jeans are undone, shirt rucked up.

“Dean.”

“I’m okay, Sam, are you – ”

“ _Stop_ , for hell’s sake, the two of you are _pathological_.”

Sam gets flipped onto his back, gasps again when he does, ribs mad with it. He’s glad he'd already spit out all the blood in his throat before because otherwise he would be choking on it. Lucifer settles his weight on Sam’s waist. He feels his throat close up.

“Don’t.”

“Shhh, that’s enough complaining.” Lucifer drags his knuckles gently down Sam’s cheek. “Tell you what – we’ve got time. I’ll be congenial. I’ll fuck you first – remind you all about our good times. Remind you how well we _fit_ together, that we’re meant to be together. Once you remember it all, maybe you’ll say yes before I move on to big brother Dean. How’s that sound?”

Sam shudders. God, Dean is _right there_.

“Don’t you dare touch my brother, you - !” Dean's jaw snaps closed.

“Does he ever shut up?”

In other circumstances, with someone else making that jibe, Sam might actually crack a laugh, or a smirk. Right now? All he can do is close his eyes and try to pretend Dean’s not about to witness this. Cas will get them out of here. Someone will. Someone has to.

When Lucifer’s cold-as-an-iceberg hand is on his face this time, it’s no longer gentle. His fingers dig into Sam’s cheeks and his eyes snap open.

“ _Watch_ , Sam.” And then, glancing to the side, to Dean. “This is how I used to do it. Hurts him more when he has to watch. On his back, y’know, looking up at me.”

Dean makes a growling noise in his throat but that’s all he can accomplish. Lucifer looks back at Sam.

“You know, I’ve missed this. There’s only one thing out of place.”

Sam’s eyes go wide. No. _No_. He’s not going to, he wouldn’t –

He does.

Like a swirling mist, his face and body change, morph. The smirk on Nick’s visage melts into a more handsome, more charming one, a grin that Sam’s been looking at his whole life. Dean’s face. Dean’s hair, his one-day scruff, Dean’s clothes and under them, Sam intimately knows, Dean’s body, right down to his tattoo.

Dean, the real Dean, makes a high pitched, probably angry noise in his throat. Sam bucks and struggles in blind panic because he can’t – he can’t let Dean see this, watch this. He can’t let this happen.

Struggling is useless, and his arms snap over his head, mirroring Dean’s position.

“Now this feels right, doesn’t it Sammy?” Lucifer says, but the cajole in his voice is all too close to Dean’s real voice. “Just how we did it five years ago. Well, when I wasn’t busy looking like Daddy dearest or some of your other loved ones but no, I think this is the right face for the occasion.”

“Lucifer please…” he gasps. That hand is still gripping Sam’s jaw and he knows it’s going to bruise, can feel the cold seeping into his jaw and neck beneath the skin. It aches. Each breath is panted and painful.

“Is that a yes, Sammy?”

He swallows. He can’t. Lucifer would kill Dean. And Dean would never forgive him.

"Don't make him watch. Please."

Lucifer hums and takes it for the denial it is. A moment later, mortification sweeps through Sam when cold fingers graze his waist, slip under his jacket. Lucifer releases his jaw and sits back on his lap a little, enough to grab at his flannel and rip it open.

“So many layers,” he murmurs, either annoyed or amused. He presses the flannel and jacket out wide. It’s something, at least. Some shred of protection. Sam’s clothes hadn’t survived in the Cage the first time, not after the first few days.

Then those fingers are sliding up his t-shirt, against his skin. The t-shirt stops at his armpits and Lucifer trails his fingers down his sides then flicks his nipples with both thumbs. Sam hisses in a breath and closes his eyes again. 

“Ah ah. You know what happens if you close those peepers, Sammy.”

He swallows. He does. He remembers. He opens them.

“That’s my boy.” Dean – it’s not Dean, Dean’s right next to him, growling and shaking and helpless – _Lucifer_ winks. He leans down over Sam, sliding his hands further up as he does, “that’s my baby brother.”

He says it like a whisper, like it’s only for Sam, but Dean’s less than a foot away so there’s no way he didn’t hear. Sam shudders out the next breath. He can’t respond. He can’t. Lucifer feeds on getting a reaction.

And then – fuck, and then he’s kissing Sam. He screws his eyes closed, allowed to for this part, and tries not to gag when Lucifer’s tongue invades his mouth, cold and grotesque, lapping at the blood there, mmm’ing at the flavor he finds. He starts rocking his hips against Sam’s and he can't, he can't - he pulls away from the kiss, sucks in air.

“Sam – ” it’s a warning.

“You keep doing that ‘n ‘m gonna throw up,” he grits out and means it. It earns him a laugh.

“You apes. You’re so _weak_.” He stands. Sam’s pants are ripped off him, down off his legs, shoes and socks and boxers all dragged with them. He swears and stares right up at the roof of the cage. It’s not the _same_ cage, and that’s the weirdest part of all this, maybe. The unfamiliar ceiling.

“Sam,” it’s Dean, voice raw and scared, and no – that’s the weirdest part. That Dean is here with him, the real one.

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m okay.” It's shaky even by his own standards.

“He’s not,” Lucifer adds, and Sam realizes he let Dean speak again to start getting reactions out of Sam. Shit.

Lucifer’s there, then, fast and between his legs and leaning over him and Sam feels – _something._ Something hot and weird and painful inside him. Familiar and unpleasant and just the precursor. He arches his back against the psychic hold on his body and shouts out.

“Sorry about that. Cleaning out the pipes. Kinda gross,” he chuckles it out, half like an aside and probably for Dean. “Lubes him up too. Going in dry can get messy, it’s more fun if his body doesn’t turn itself inside-out on the first thrust. Well, sometimes. Sometimes that’s fun too. Sam," he snaps his fingers for attention, "eyes.”

He forces them open, breathing carefully, forcefully out his mouth, too ragged.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Dean’s voice is beyond rage-filled. It’s almost calm. He must be planning it in his head. But it’s fucking with Sam’s head, it is, because Dean’s _there_ and hearing him reminds Sam. He’s literally in touching distance, his own shirt rucked up and his own pants open; his entire position is a threat against Sam.

And Lucifer knows it. He grins whenever Dean opens his mouth. Grins _with_ Dean’s mouth. Those green eyes, the rakish charm, all channeled by the most evil thing in existence. Sam’s even counting the Darkness in that – she’s not evil so much as a force of nature. Lucifer gets off on how much he can hurt Sam.

Lucifer undresses with a smirk. He doesn't need to undress, but he chooses to. He slips off the layers that Dean wears, shimmies out of his jeans, gets his (brother’s) cock out, stroking it. Sam resists the urge to close his eyes again.

When he forces his way in – with Sam’s helpless, bare legs around his waist, useless and just holding on – Dean swears a blue streak, every threat in the books he can think of, and Lucifer kisses Sam through it. The kiss lets him close his eyes but doesn’t block out Dean’s voice, and that makes this worse. He can survive the rest of this, he has before, but Dean being witness, Dean having to see this, to see Lucifer using Dean's own face like this?

It’s –

“Oh Sammy,” the devil sighs out using Dean’s voice, moves down to kissing Sam’s neck, “love being inside you. This body, made just for me, perfect for me.”

“Not. Yours.” Sam grits out because he has to, he can’t stay silent, not when –

Not when Lucifer’s started thrusting. When the only prep was whatever his finger-snap trick is that lubed Sam up from the inside to ease his way, but he can’t relax, not now, and it fucking hurts but not as much as it should. It’s full, he’s full, and it’s too much and he feels like a telephone pole is spearing him in two but even with all of that, it’s the thought of Dean hearing that, hearing what Lucifer’s murmuring to him, that sets his teeth on edge.

“ _Ours._ You’re right, Sammy.”

He makes a noise in his throat, confusion, and Lucifer nips at the skin by his ear.

“I should stop trying to cut Dean out of this equation. Even I can’t pretend you belong to only me. You carve yourself apart for your big brother. You’re ours. Me and Dean’s.” He kisses Sam again so he can’t form a response but Dean doesn’t have that problem,

“Sam isn’t yours you sick son of a bitch, no matter what you do to him he’s never gonna be your— _ffkkchk_!”

Sam’s eyes fly open and he wrenches his face to the side to see what Lucifer’s done to Dean. He’s got his fingers around Dean’s throat, and he pulls him closer by it. Dean’s pressed up against Sam now, literally arms (still over their heads, still useless) brushing together with every thrust, the pressure of Dean next to him through all the layers of clothes rucked up around their ribs and shoulders.

“Let him go,” Sam gasps, begs.

“You wanna know something interesting about angels, Dean?”

Dean’s throat makes a clicking noise. He’s going a little blue. Sam starts to struggle in earnest against Lucifer, against what he’s doing to his body, but it just twists him up, how he can’t even move, how struggling just gets Lucifer’s cock in a better angle, filling him deeper. He can hardly breathe himself when that happens, gasps out in shock. Even Lucifer groans.

“We don’t really orgasm. Not the way you,” he pants a little, but Sam knows it’s for dramatic effect, “humans do. No. Not programmed for it. But we have something similar, when we’re with a human who’s climaxing. Sam’s climax is my climax. Amazing, right?”

His thrusts speed up.

Sam can’t stand it. “Let him go, Lucifer, you don’t need him for this.” For what he’s about to do.

“Hold onto me, Sam.”

He lets Sam’s arms go and he does, he obeys to speed this up, to get Lucifer's hand off Dean's neck. He snaps them around Lucifer – around Dean’s body that Lucifer’s wearing. Lucifer’s naked and his body is frigid, even where he’s inside Sam, and it’s the only way to tell their flesh apart. Sam clings on and a second later he can hear Dean sucking in air.

“As I was saying,” Lucifer shifts, grips Sam’s hip, rolls his own in long, deep thrusts that make Sam pant. It's deep inside of him, hitting him just how Lucifer knows to, making it feel as good as it does bad. He knows exactly where this is going. “I get my jollies by making sure Sammy gets his. I’m a generous lover. But one thing I never thought to test was what two at once would feel like.”

“ _No_!” Sam tries to throw himself off but Lucifer pulls back, pushes Sam’s shoulders to the ground, and Sam’s arm flings to the side of its own accord, gripping at Dean. He feels Dean’s arm do the same, landing on Sam’s chest. Shit.

“Oh, I can tell, this is gonna be good.”

“What’re you – ” Dean starts to ask, then stops because –

Because it’s happening. Sam gasps and closes his eyes. He can’t look, not for this. It’s building inside him. Not an orgasm, not a normal one. But what Lucifer does – it fills him. He thinks – he thinks it’s something with his Grace. He’s never been sure. But all the same it’s overwhelming. It fills him up from deep inside, a fullness he can’t escape from. His ass, his cock, sure, but every nerve beyond it, from head to toe, the follicles of his hair, his eyelashes, and he’s gasping until air won’t enter his lungs because his body is too full, too full of this – feeling. This incredible, every fibre of his being and he might explode if he gets any more of it but he can’t live without it and needs it and –

This feeling.

His world goes white and he shudders, eyes rolling back and gasps, prays his brother’s name, arched up against Lucifer and half-anoxic with pleasure. His fingers scrape Dean’s chest as his orgasm rips through him – through them. Dean’s the same, he can feel it, pulsing and nestled next to himself, to his own, like their bodies are beating as one.

Lucifer shudders too. He rocks himself into Sam over and over until he’s wrung out, and then pulls out. Sam groans, and the post-orgasm bliss doesn’t last, not like it would with a real one. It’s more like coming down off a drug, it leaves him feeling hungover and sick. It always did.

Lucifer’s clothes reform on his body like mist. He stretches and sighs, cracks his neck as if he needs to, as if he's more than mist. It’s not till Dean moves next to him that Sam realizes that they’re not being held in place anymore. Shit.

“Sam,” Dean’s voice is urgent. “ _Sam_?”

“I’m okay.” He scrunches up his forehead, and with Dean’s help, starts to sit. Everything – literally everything, every single muscle in his body – aches in protest. He sits anyway. Dean’s clothes are already sorted but he grabs Sam’s jeans and pulls them closer for him. Sam swallows. It’s taking all he’s got to not throw up. He pulls them on.

“So.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Dean’s voice is incensed. He’s still leaning next to Sam, but he starts to stand.

“Stop with the threats, Dean. They’re boring as hell, and I would know. Now, Sam. I hope that helped jog the old noggin? Light up the memory banks?”

He shudders. Dean’s hand is protective on his shoulder, grips it gently.

“Come on, don’t be like that. Or do. I’m always good for a round two. This time with Dean.”

“ _Nothing_ you do is gonna get me or my brother to say yes to being your vessel, you creep.” Dean growls.

“Dean?!” A voice comes from far off, and all of them turn to staircase where Cas is rushing toward them.

“Oh goody,” Lucifer mutters, face shifting back into Nick’s. “Finally it’s a real party.”

He flings Sam and Dean to the side and Sam tastes blood all over again. His legs feel like jello, but Dean’s whispering to him that there’s a spell, that all they had to do was stall Lucifer this long, and then Cas is in the cage and fighting him and then things are going white and –

And it’s over.

-

They're in the Impala, speeding over the state line into Kansas.

Sam presses his thumb into his opposite palm so hard he thinks he might be giving himself another bruise. He can’t stop. The scar from where he used to press to remind himself what was real and what was hallucination is long faded, covered by more cuts and scar tissue than he can keep track of, the amount of times he’s slit his palms for a spell or incantation too many to count. But it helps. It reminds him still that he’s out here and Lucifer’s still down there, still in the cage.

“You okay?” Dean asks, not for the first time, but the first time in hours, anyway. They’re almost back at the bunker.

He’s not, so he doesn’t pretend. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He’s got to whisper or else his voice might start to waver. “I never wanted you to know.”

Dean nods, next to him, slow and careful. Sam can see it in the reflection on the window, since he can’t face his brother. “I get it. Hell, I wouldn’t want you to know, and if I could stuff that cat back in that bag, I would. But it’s out now.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Sam – ”

“I mean it. It’s not – I’ve been here before, Dean. A few days, a lot of whiskey – I’ll be fine.” I always am, he thinks but doesn’t say. Dean reaches over, and when Sam doesn’t flinch, drops his hand on his shoulder, grips it a little again. Solid.

“I'm here, I've got you. Nothing that happened in that cage is gonna change that, or gonna come between us.”

“I know Dean. I know.”

 

 

 - 


End file.
